


Of Irony And Oversized Sweaters

by sonianvm



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, Rating might go up, and so is clear, coffee shop AU, noiz is a pretentious dirtbag tbh, noiz is broke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonianvm/pseuds/sonianvm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some have wealth, good looks, and, to top it off, perfect abilities at even the most bizarre of things. And then there are people like him, who once had all those things, but ended up losing them in the blink of an eye. But, maybe, having lost them won’t be such a bad thing. Hopefully. </p><p>(Also known as that one story in which Noiz learns that money is almost the best thing in the universe. Almost. Because that silly kid named Clear takes the first place.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Irony And Oversized Sweaters

This isn’t a story about poverty or wealth. It isn’t about sadness, or misery, or apathy. Well, maybe it is a tad about those last three. But that isn’t important. This isn’t about ridiculousness or about pranks and perfection. This is a story about the idiotic decisions taken by a pair of teenagers. This is about said teenagers not knowing a thing about love and relationships, but willing to give it a try either way. It’s about them acknowledging that not everything in life is mellow and sweet, and about them wanting to just throw the towel.

It’s about them not giving up, however, despite having wanted to countless times.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t that he was envious, really.

_Grab, slide, check, repeat._

Envy was a nasty feeling for only the worst of the worst, in his opinion—so, how come he felt it?

_Grab, slide, check, repeat._

After a while, it got tiring, really—watching these aristocrats spend their (apparently endless) money on things they didn’t need to impress people they didn’t like. Seeing those luxurious credit cards and dollar bills of high value for merely seconds, while his wallet only had a five dollar bill and three Japanese trading cards, was beginning to slowly chew at his mental health.

_Grab, slide, check, repeat._

It wasn’t that he believed he needed money to be happy, but financial stability certainly wouldn’t be horrendous.  He would keep smiling, regardless. Well, he never really smiled, per se, but that wasn’t the point.

_Grab, slide, check, repeat._

…Who the hell even paid 70 dollars for _an ounce of spices_?!

* * *

 

**Chapter 1**

_In which we meet Noiz, who really, only needs a hug (but won’t admit to it)._

* * *

 

**I**

 

It wasn’t part of the plan to work at the small, neighbourhood grocery store, nor at that shitty café full of brats who tried too hard to fit into a subculture, or as the dentist’s assistant during the weekends.

The plan was to become a well-known hacker (though he took a preference towards the title _information broker_ —it sounded much more professional, didn’t it? --and… And magically get money out of it. Noiz had never been one to make plans, much less stick to them, so it came as no surprise that he had merely a vague idea as to what to do with his life. Besides, he’d always had the faint belief that good things happened to good persons, and had confidence that his life would suddenly turn for the better. One day. Maybe.

(If he were a good person.)

But it could be worse, he guessed, and so he kept positive. Or as positive as he could get, which wasn’t much. Things always got better, didn’t they? You couldn’t precisely have a rainbow without rain, as they said.

But he was getting a little bit tired of going through a storm _every single day_.

Not that he’d whine about it. That wouldn’t help his current situation in the minimum.

And he really should stop his internal monologue, he noted, as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was already peeling in some places, and had some dark stains, which source he’d never really found out. They looked of a sepia-ish colour, and he scrunched his nose in thought as he tried to figure out what possibly could have left them.

But that didn’t matter, he decided, before turning his head to the side in order to get a glimpse of his alarm clock. 7:16, it read, to which he couldn’t help but release a groan. It was the third day in a row that he awoke at the wee hours in the morning--that particular day he’d woken up at about three--and then proceed to wallow in his misery for the next couple hours until he was running late for work. To make things (even) worse, he’d ran out of coffee recently, which meant that he’d probably fall asleep at some point or other during the day.  He could try to make a beverage for himself at his workplace, given that his shift at the coffee house started in a little less than an hour, but paying for one of those drinks would be like taking an eye off his face.

…Now that he thought about it, he could use his eye as a payment! He could prepare some iced coffee, drink it, and when his manager asked him to pay, he could just say, “Alright, man. I’ll give you my eye—you gotta take it out yourself, though.”

And that qualified as the bad idea #216.

Did the lack of money seriously trigger such levels of havoc upon his mind? He didn’t even need to think about it in order to know that yes, it did, and he was ashamed of the fact that some green pieces of paper (of which about 93% had rests of cocaine, according to that trivia magazine he’d found on a table at his workplace the other day) ruled his life.

But now, he really should stop thinking about that. He was only nineteen years old; he had time. Besides, he’d been living like this for about a year already; even if things didn’t get better, he’d survive.

And now, off to go get some more green pieces of paper.

 

**II**

 

When he exited his apartment building it was about 7:47, with cloudy weather and slightly less traffic than usual. He was thankful for this-- He had about twelve minutes and a half to get to his workplace, which would prove to be impossible if he had to deal with slow and/or angry drivers.

Current mission: Get to work in time.

He only hoped he wouldn’t fail at it.

 

**III**

 

He did fail at his mission, though; he arrived three minutes past eight, but at least his boss didn’t seem to notice. The blond pushed open the door to the café, quickly grabbed his rust-coloured apron and threw it over his clothes, afterwards scurrying behind the counter.

Noiz took an old rag and began cleaning the counter with it, simultaneously (in a completely unsuspicious manner, of course) whistling some random tune as he saw his boss approach him. “Morning, old man!” He greeted, as enthusiastically as he could possibly get. Hey, he at least had to try and pretend his life wasn’t a joke.

The middle-aged man’s brows furrowed together for a moment, yet they quickly relaxed. He was seemingly used to this kind of behaviour coming from the teen. “Good day, Noiz. I thought I should let you know that a new waiter will begin working with us today. He should be here any minu--”

“Good morning!”

And that’s the story of how Noiz met that obnoxiously cheerful kid who ruined his life.

The German quirked an eyebrow lightly at the ridiculousness of the whole situation—He’d seen, and read, this so many times he’d lost count.

> nEw COWoRKER!!!1!!!
> 
> InTERRUPTs BOSS UPon arrivAL!!1!!!
> 
> SPEEZhUL!!!@!!@!
> 
> aNNOyING AS HeLL!!11!!

He allowed a chuckle to slip past his lips at that thought; definitely silly. It was then that he actually bothered to glance towards the new waiter, giving him a good long look.  Well, he wasn’t exactly displeasing to look at, unlike his other co-worker Koujaku’s (it’s worth noting that the older man’s face made him want to throw him off a skyscraper), so he guessed that was a good thing.

Noiz studied him carefully, as if he were some sort of new, exotic species at the zoo, afterwards realising that referring to him as “exotic species” was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done. Count that as bad idea #217.

The new kid had messy white hair (was that even natural? Most likely not. Noiz couldn’t help but make a mental note to ask that later), and his eyes were of some strange hue he could only describe as some “weird-ass colour”. Wait. They were pink. And then he smirked at that realisation; he knew that, given his skin tone and hair colour, the hue of his eyes was obviously a result of albinism, but yet he couldn’t stop himself from spitting out, “Your eyes are girly as hell.”

“I’m just… Going to take that as a compliment, I guess. My name’s Clear! Nice to meet you!”

He couldn’t help but think that his name was almost as weird as his eyes. “Noiz.”

And those were the first words they exchanged.

Despite that not being quite the beginning to a fairy tale, they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so that's it for today, folks! Perhaps it was somewhat short, but maybe later chapters will get somewhat longer? I don't know. If you liked it, please let me know, okay? That'd be really neat!! I'm so excited about this fic, to be honest. I only have a rough outline of it thus far, but I'm sure it'll be great!


End file.
